


To Bear it Down

by vodkaanddebauchery



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Broh Week, Coming Out, Ember Island Vacation Funtime, Established Relationship, Late-night booty call, M/M, The Fire Lord is Scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkaanddebauchery/pseuds/vodkaanddebauchery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ember Island reveals the true you - whether you want it to or not. <br/>Written for the last day of Broh Week (Everyone finding out about their relationship).</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Bear it Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Sufjan Stevens’ “All For Myself,” which gives me far too many schmoopy Broh feelings (even though it probably shouldn’t.)  
> This work is incredibly late - beyond late, really - but after travelling cross-country nearly twice, I’ve been too beat to finish or edit it. I apologize if the ending isn’t up to snuff; blame the jetlag. :c

Ember Island has a strange effect on time. Iroh remembers thinking it when he was younger, a smaller version of his serious-faced self, running with his brother and sisters up and down the halls of the family beach home. Something about the combination of clear sea and dark sand, warm wind rustling the fronds of the palm trees with a grassy whisper, has the same effect as a blotter of water poured onto a fresh watercolor and ink painting: The days blend together until you can’t tell where one ended and another began, a medley of smeared colours that are beautiful nonetheless.

And it’s like a strange deja-vu, walking the halls that he walked when he was younger and less careworn. He’d seen his mother and father refurbishing the Fire Lord’s traditional beach house, helped his grandfather up the front steps and listened to him reminisce about the summer he’d spent here with Great Aunt Azula and Grandmother Mai. The house is littered with little mementos from vacations spent here in his youth, and now...well, Iroh can’t remember the last time he took a vacation that wasn’t a childhood trip to the beach. Shore leave applies, but it’s nowhere near the same. 

Which is why it’s doubly strange to be caught in this time vortex, on vacation with literally nothing to do but drink and cultivate a tan, and to be caught in it with the Avatar and her friends - and Bolin - as company. Iroh’s not sure what to do with himself. He fidgets and paces the halls when no one is looking. Iroh may be named after his great-uncle but he’s inherited his grandfather’s propensity towards brooding. His mother has had to speak with him about it on several occasions. 

The house is large enough to have its own separate wing, which is where the Fire Lord and her husband are staying. As Iroh is the only Royal offspring in residence this summer, by tradition he gets the largest bedroom in the main wing of the house. It’s on the upper floor, just down the hall from the set of rooms set up for the Avatar and Miss Sato, and Mako and Bolin - but he’d give it up in a heartbeat, would trade it in for a broom closet if it meant he got to share it with Bolin. 

The close proximity is starting to get to his head. Two weeks, by the calender, of just looking but no _touching_ is enough to drive a man crazy. They sneak glances at one another, silent communications of _I miss you_ and _this is awful_ and _Mako snores, please kill me_ , and try not to let their fingers brush for noticeably long when they pass each other dishes at the dinnertable, but it’s not enough. 

Right now he’s leaning on the railing of the balcony attached to his room. Overlooking the walled-in back garden and the inky thickets of the forest beyond, it doesn’t have as stunning of a view as the front porch or even the path leading up to the house, but Iroh sees enough of the sea so it’s inconsequential. The rest of the house is silent save for the usual nighttime noises - sleepy exhalations and the occasional snore over the perpetual, distant whisper of the sea. 

It’s an old house and the floorboards creak and settle like nothing else - when he was younger his older siblings used to terrorize him by saying it was the ghosts of Fire Lords past, caught in neverending summer vacation - but faintly down the hall he can hear the groan of floorboards corresponding to footsteps. Someone up getting water, he dismisses it, but is faintly surprised when they stop outside his room, as if hesitating, before the door creaks open. 

He is absolutely not surprised, however, when arms wrap around his waist from behind and a warm face settles against his shoulder. For all the lack of physical contact is driving _him_ crazy, Bolin is by far the more tactile and physically affectionate of the pair of them, and not being able to hold hands or exchange just-because kisses in front of their respective families must be slowly killing him. In the moonlight, his skin is bronzed and perfect from two weeks of sunlight. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Iroh asks, soft and wry. He brings his hands up and rests them over Bolin’s, pale against Bolin’s tanned skin, leaning back against the earthbender and just breathing into the contact. “Mako might wonder where you’ve disappeared to.”   
Bolin’s face scrunches against him. “You saw how many fruity drinks he had with dinner; he’s out for the night. And I don’t really care if he does at this point. I really miss you and acting like you’re a stranger is awful. I hate it.”   
“I hate it too.” He sighs. 

For a minute Iroh thinks this is just going to be a stolen moment, a press of skin and whispers to slake their need for contact - but then Bolin’s hands disappear from his waist, reappearing like a conjuring trick by settling firmly on his ass.   
“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Iroh raises his eyebrows, half-turning to meet Bolin’s eyes.   
“Two weeks,” is all Bolin says. “Two weeks without this. Two weeks of watching you running around in your bathing suit and not being able to grab a handful for myself.”   
Iroh can’t quite hide his smile when Bolin punctuates with a squeeze. “You poor thing, how are you surviving?”   
“Just barely,” Bolin mumbles. “I’m tired of this, Iroh. Why do we have to pretend?” 

The General opens his mouth to say something - he’s totally, absolutely going to say something like _familial expectations_ or _difference in ages_ or even _your brother will make the Avatar help him skin me alive_ , but he comes up silent. He can’t think of anything. 

Well, he can, but they’re all variants on those explanations or the ones he gave Bolin earlier, at the beginning of their courtship - back when he was pretending that he knew better. They unravel and fall apart on his tongue, replaced by something ill-advised and crazy but much more appealing than the strange misery they’ve been caught in for two weeks. 

Of course, the fallout will be quick and just as miserable and might end with Mako carrying around his head on a pike, but it’d be worth it. 

Bolin is worth it. He’s known that since day one. 

“I don’t know why we have to, any more,” he says finally. “We can - well, we can start off small, and work our way up.”   
Bolin thinks about this. “Or we can do it all at once and try to survive the blowout instead of dragging it out, like ripping a bandage off.”   
“Or we can do that too,” Iroh agrees amiably. 

Huffing, Bolin nuzzles his face into the side of Iroh’s neck, tilting forward on tiptoes to make up for their difference in height. He kisses Iroh’s neck absently, seeming to mull the idea over just as Iroh is doing now. “I think Mako won’t be much trouble once he gets used to the idea, is all. And I know Korra will be on board...How do you think yours will react?”   
“Mm.” For all Iroh’s hesitant to have Bolin’s brother in the know - the man is the picture definition of overprotective - his family is a wildcard, supportive and demanding at once. “I honestly can’t say. We’ll find out.” 

“This was originally just gonna be a late-night booty call, you know.” Bolin laughs self-consciously, but his smile is open and joyful. It lights up his face. Iroh’s stomach does a strange sort of vaulting somersault upon seeing it for what must be the millionth time. “I totally didn’t mean for this to get all serious and stuff. But I’m glad we decided to do this.”   
“Me too,” says Iroh honestly. “They’d have found out eventually, though I’m sure we’d prefer for that to happen on our own terms.”   
“Definitely.” A soft exhalation, like a sigh. “This seems like the right place to do it. To...let them know, like this, I mean. I love you.”   
“I love you too, Bolin. And it’s still not too late for that booty call, you know.” 

~**~ 

Iroh wakes up early the next morning, Bolin still snoring next to him. They’d left the door to the balcony open last night, and through the mist hanging low over the greenery he can hear tropical birds and the sleepy sounds of a waking island. Of course, he knows his mother is already awake, doubtless halfway through a pot of strong tea and a stack of paperwork by now. There’s a saying in their country: _The Fire Lord doesn’t sleep, she waits._

He slips out of bed and pulls on his houserobe, determined to get it over with as quickly and - hopefully - painlessly as possible.   
The Fire Lord has a habit of making people intensely uncomfortable just by looking at them. After years of constant exposure her family has naturally grown an immunity to her pointed looks and pursed lips, but every so often she pulls out the big guns and they just _crack_ , like the shell of an egg under a spoon. 

Iroh once watched his brother break down into a tearful apology about sweets he snatched from the kitchen when he was eight, and all their mother had to do was look and wait. That had colored Iroh’s perception about lying to his parents at an early age, and now he can count the number of times he’s kept the truth from her on one hand. 

...his relationship with Bolin notwithstanding, of course, because it’s not _lying_ so much as conveniently not mentioning it in her presence. 

He nearly loses his nerve outside of the door of his mother’s chambers until he hears her call, “Either make up your mind or leave us be, if you please,” from within. He opens the door.   
She cuts no less of an impressive figure in her houserobe, seated at a low desk and, true to his predictions, already started on a pile of paperwork. Iroh sits across from her. 

“Good morning, Mother,” he says. She waits until she’s done embellishing a paper with her neat signature to look up at him.   
“It’s a surprise to see you up, Iroh. Vacation is not for rising early.”   
Iroh looks pointedly towards the papers, her pen poised above the next fresh sheet. Her eyebrows rise up to her iron-coloured hair. “I am the Fire Lord, there is a difference.”   
“I am the youngest General in the United Forces Navy, Mother,” Iroh says. His brow crinkles. “If I can afford to take leave for a vacation, you can too.”   
“It’s different,” she repeats. “What’s on your mind, my son?” Though it’s a victory when she sets down her pen in its teak holder and folds her hands in her lap, Iroh is now under the full force of her piercing, tawny gaze. It’s intimidating, but Iroh squares his shoulders and soldiers through, determined. 

“I actually came to talk to you about the issue of matrimony, Mother. I think it’s time we had a frank discussion on the subject, in light of recent developments.”   
The Fire Lord’s eyebrows, which had been settling back down, shoot up again. “I won’t mince words when I say this is unexpected, given your previous lack of interest on the subject.” 

He supposes it is. Their last conversation on the matter of betrothal to one Fire Nation princess or another had come to a quick and decisive end when he (following the enigmatic advice of his grandfather) enlisted in the Navy. And that, quite simply, had been the end of that. “Suppose I were to change my mind?”   
Fingers lacing together, his mother brings her hands up, elbows resting on the table. She observes him over her clasped fingers. “Go on.”   
“That is, to say....” Iroh falters. “It’s not - I’ve been seeing somebody for over a year now, and together we’ve decided to, er. Make our feelings towards one another known. The time was right, we mutually decided, and this seemed like the right place to...” 

The Fire Lord considers for several agonizing moments. When she opens her mouth, Iroh can see it coming - he can absolutely see her inquiring after the young lady’s birth, her familial position in the Fire Nation’s social hierarchy, whether or not the matter of engagement has been brought up or, spirits forbid, if a pregnancy factors into this at all - but he’s bowled over when she asks mildly, “Oh, that’s how long you and that young man have been involved?”   
“I - well - yes. I - how -” 

His mother smiles, leans over and pats his hand fondly. “I’m the Fire Lord, dear. If that’s all you came to talk about, would you mind letting the cook know we’d like breakfast in an hour, on your way out?” 

~**~ 

After another silent conversation over breakfast - _Good morning, my mother knows_ answered by a tilt in Bolin’s eyebrows, _Good morning back at you, I’m glad, Mako still doesn’t_ \- there isn’t much left to do but pack up and head down to the beach before the morning rush, same as nearly every other day for the past two weeks. 

It’s a beautiful day, just as they’ve all been without exception. The breeze off the ocean is cool and smells of salt, familiar as anything to the General, and the sun climbing steadily through the sky hadn’t yet grown unbearably hot. It’ll be a scorcher that afternoon, he knows, but the water’s inviting so it doesn’t matter.   
Beneath his beach umbrella, Iroh sits on a towel and watches the water, the people playing in it, and thinks. 

A dozen yards away, Korra, Mako, and Bolin wrestle in the shallows, waves lapping about their ankles, Miss Sato farther out into the ocean and safely out of range. He watches as the Avatar pulls Bolin into a headlock, sweeps his feet out from underneath him, and deposits him, unceremonious and laughing, into the water. Half-submerged, Bolin latches onto Mako’s ankle and does his best to topple him, but is unsuccessful until Korra hipchecks Mako into splashing down as well. Bolin’s ferret, it’s amusing to see, seems torn between venturing too far out into the water and assisting his fallen master, but the dilemma is solved when Bolin re-emerges and heads back up onto the beach, grabbing Pabu and making a beeline towards Iroh’s umbrella. 

He plops down on the sand next to Iroh, forgoing a towel. His feet and legs are crusted in sand, his hair drips with ocean water and his cheekbones are red with the beginnings of sunburn. 

He’s the most beautiful creature Iroh has ever laid eyes on, the only one he ever wants to see. 

“It went well?” Bolin asks. Iroh hums an affirmation.   
“Apparently nothing goes unnoticed by her. Mother might have known about us before we even knew about us.”   
“That’s...a little scary,” Bolin says. “If she challenges me to an Agni Kai for sullying her princeling’s honor, I trust you’ll come bail me out.”   
“In a heartbeat. I just might not be so lucky going up against your brother for the same.”   
Bolin laughs. “If Mako challenges you to an Agni Kai, you have my full permission to just dunk him in the ocean and leave him until he cools off and gets used to the idea. Or, you know, until the statue of Aang in Yue Bay comes to life and starts doing impersonations of a platypus bear on his rock. Whichever comes first.”   
The mental image - of Mako soaking wet, of the statue moving - make the corners of Iroh’s mouth twitch. “I think I might have to ask Aang for a little help in that department, if that’s the case.” 

Bolin chuckles, scratching the top of Pabu’s head with a sandy finger. But his other hand sneaks over, rests on top of Iroh’s - his fingers are warm and a little wet from the ocean water, and Iroh holds on tight. After two weeks of a good solid nothing, it makes Iroh’s stomach jolt a little - that they’re doing this, holding hands, in public where everyone can see.   
“Well, look at that, my brother didn’t implode,” Bolin says, cheeky. “Oh - he’s looking right over here. He’s looking like he wants to come see what’s going on. Wanna push our luck?” 

Above them the sun is bright, the breeze stirs Bolin’s damp hair. Off in the glistening blue water, Mako does indeed look like he wants to come investigate, and Korra’s looking mildly curious too.   
But there’s Bolin’s fingers in his, feeling more right than it does strange, and Iroh’s ready for a day that doesn’t blend into the others - damn the fallout, if it comes or not. 

“Only if you want to,” Iroh says. He leans towards him, the promise of a kiss. 

Bolin, red-cheeked and tanned and beautiful, leans in too. His lips taste of salt and Iroh never wants to pretend again.


End file.
